


A Kiss To Build A Dream On

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Sunshine - McKinley
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He asked me to tell him stories to keep him sane, so I did. Then he asked me to make one up. Somehow, this wasn't what I planned it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss To Build A Dream On

"Tell me a story," Constantine rasped.

I was tired, my voice soft and almost hoarse from talking. "I told you everything already," I said wearily. And I've told everything I knew. Fairy tales, book plots, TV shows, gossip I'd picked up at Charlie's and even how I make the cinnamon rolls every morning. I mean, my life is boring. It's not like a baker can do fantastic things, right? I _bake._

"Make up something," he asked. His voice was low, but I could tell he was pleading with me. He was staying out of the light as best as he could, and he had said that my talking kept him sane. I didn't want to think about what he would be like if he wasn't.

"I... I'm not good at stories," I said finally. "I don't tell stories. I bake. I can recite every recipe from the shop, or how there are hot spots in the oven, how to get the rolls to stay as fluffy as they do in time for the morning rush..."

He looked up at me, and though he didn't say anything else, I could almost feel his despair. I wanted to help him, and talking made the time pass for me, too.

"It starts with a kiss," I said abruptly. There was a start from Con, and his chain clinked. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. "Things always start with a kiss. Or end with them. So this story is going to start with a kiss." I could feel his eyes on me, open wide and yet comforting. He wasn't some kind of monster, even if he was a vampire.

I closed my eyes and tried to think of Mel, of the tattoos and the utter normalcy of the kitchen at the coffeehouse. That helped to ground me a little. "Yes," I continued. "This story starts with a kiss. The girl is a chef..."

"Not a baker?" Con asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"Hey! I'm the one telling the story here." He laughed, and it was actually a nice sound to hear. "So yes, the chef is named Clara, and she had a boyfriend who was a magic user. He was heavy into magic, knew all sorts of spells, could do just about anything. His name was..." I trailed off and tried to think of a name that might be good. "Trevor," I said finally. There was a Trevor that sometimes came to the coffee shop, though he was a plain and boring guy. No real change in his orders any of the times he came to the shop.

"So, Trevor is the magic user, and he made a bet with his buddies that he could kiss the chef. You see, his friends thought that there was no way in skegging hell that she would ever let it happen. Clara was always in the kitchen, always dreaming up new recipes and things and just never had the time for that kind of thing. She wasn't looking for a boyfriend, you know? Sometimes they're just more trouble than they're worth."

Con looked amused by that, and he leaned back against the wall in a lazy manner, as if we were just sitting there because we were friends and liked hanging out. "But she kisses him back, doesn't she?" he rasped, his eyes on mine. "He kisses like he means it. Like she's the only thing that matters to him in the entire universe, the only thing that makes him whole."

Holy carpathagnian hell, Con's voice rolled though me. It wasn't that kind of vampire charm that they have, since that doesn't do squat to me somehow. But it was a kind of charm that got my heart beating a little faster, the kind that would have me pushing down on the dress to show a little more skin to hear that voice again.

"Yeah," I said finally, licking my lips. "She likes it, how he kisses. How he touches her, like she's somebody special. She doesn't think she's special at all, just a chef. Just someone in the kitchen that cooks that people don't really think about."

"But she's beautiful," Con interrupts in a soft tone, and I swear my bones turned to water at the sound of it. "She's the center of the universe, soft and beautiful and worthy of being worshipped with his mouth."

I goggled at him, because I could almost feel his lips over mine, and my heart was beating so fast he _had_ to hear it. "She's never been worshipped before," I squeaked. "Not like that."

"She should be," he said, shifting his position against the wall. He seemed coiled and ready to spring now, as if he would push his way down on top of me and show me how Trevor would kiss Clara, that he would show me exactly what he meant by worship. "She should be laid down on a bed of soft silk, lips over skin, fingertips brushing soft places. She should feel nothing but pleasure, should know that every moment is about making her body sing."

Struggling to breathe, I licked my lips again. I was wet, nearly panting just from the sound of his voice. He was _that_ good. "She'd want to feel that," I said, voice ragged. I held the skirt around my knees tightly, almost wishing he could touch me. "She'd want to return the favor, touch him back. He's handsome, even if he's nothing she ever expected to want."

His eyes flashed, and his hands were tight around his chains. "He wants to know what she tastes like. How her skin would feel, what her touch would be like. If she would want that, if she would wish it, he could do anything for her."

"She wants it," I said, and let my arms fall from my knees. I kept the edge of the skirt in my fists, feeling like I was sopping wet at this point. "More than anything, even if it seems impossible." I dropped the pretense. "If I touched myself, it would be thinking it was you." He let out a low sound, almost a growl, his hands clutching the chain in a white knuckled grip. "You know that, right? You can tell how much I want this, right? That I want you right here," I drew my fingers across the bodice of the dress, where my breasts strained across the front. "And here," I said, lifting the skirt. I let my legs fall open, and his gaze fell on me. It was hungry, and felt almost like a touch, almost like he _could_ make me come just by looking at me.

He licked his lips, watching my every movement, straining against the chain. "Show me," he rasped. "Show me what you would have me do."

I slipped my fingers inside, slowly at first, almost shy. And then I moved faster, head falling back and eyes falling shut. My breath was harsh in my chest, and I thought of his eyes, that hungry look devouring me, what that tongue would be like on me, what that voice would sound like up against my ear as he urged me on. I clenched down tight around my fingers, imagining them to be his, and felt everything fall apart in a rush.

He was lying on the floor when I managed to open my eyes again, looking content. He smiled at me gently, traces of longing in his eyes. "Can you tell me the story of the kiss again?"

I laughed, and then started all over again.


End file.
